


Sound Minds

by XmagicalX (Xparrot)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Drama, Drugs, Gen, Juvenilia, My First Fanfic, Paranoia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-03-14
Updated: 1997-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/XmagicalX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mulder seems to go off the deep end for real, Scully has to work fast to prove her partner isn't crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sound Minds

**Author's Note:**

> _My very first net-published fanfic, now posted to AO3 in full technicolor HTML, including original notes, original typos, original characters and original OOC, to embarrass me for ages to come._
> 
> * * *
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The actual story is mine, copyright 1997. But the X-files,  
> Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, AD Skinner, and anyone else who seems familiar  
> don't belong to me, no matter how many dreams I have about them. They  
> all are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and Fox  
> Television. I am using them without permission for nonprofitable  
> activities--I swear I'm not making a red cent off this. In fact, since  
> time = $$, I'm effectively losing cash. Enough of this, on with my  
> story:

Twelve of them were seated around the table. Twelve, like a jury. The room was dark; these were people who had no wish to be public. No smoke floated overhead, despite the ashtrays—they understood health and cleanliness. Only three spoke. The others listened.

"It was dangerous," one said. His voice, like the others' was calm, emotionless. "We cannot fully predict the results."

"Hell, we aren't fate, we cannot predict anything," said the second. Despite his words his voice was equally level. "We needed to make a test. The opportunity presented itself—"

"And we took it. It may not have been wise, but we may still benefit," the first responded.

"It was more than that." The third voice was nearly indistinguishable from the first two. Nevertheless, one could almost feel tension thicken the air. One could almost see ears pricking up at the voice, listening closely to every word. "The dangers if we had not taken action were clear."

The second speaker cleared his throat uneasily. "Shall we say there was no choice, then, and leave it at that?"

"Acceptable," replied the third.

"Acceptable," echoed the first. "Very well. But there are still consequences. Some may be felt within a few days. What if they suspect?"

"They won't." The second voice had a trace of smugness. "I have done some research. The results will be misinterpreted...rather easily, I would say. They will not investigate as far with our...victim...as they would with another. He has a history, one might say.

"And besides," added the second voice, "even if they investigate, they will find nothing. We still have our fronts..."

"And those who know nothing truly can best deny it," said the third voice agreeably. "This may in the end be fortuitous."

"We needed a test," said the first voice.

"We would have been uncovered otherwise," said the second.

"If both facts are true, if our experiment proceeds properly, if we remain hidden, then we will succeed," said the third.

* * *

She seated herself on the hard plastic chair and faced them calmly.

"You are Agent Dana Scully?" the head asked.

"Yes," she said.

"And you will answer our questions willingly and honestly? This isn't an oath. But we need to know if you're biased in any way. We need some facts. Something to go on. Something to help..." Desperation tinged the head's voice.

"I understand," Scully replied quietly. Whatever she felt inside was masked by her external calm. "I am an MD. I know what you're trying to do. Believe me, I want to help."

"I'm sure you do," murmured one of the others sympathetically.

The head nodded. "Alright, then. How long have you known Agent Fox Mulder?"

"Almost four years now."

"And he's been your partner for that time? You've worked beside him for four years?"

"Yes."

The head took a deep breath. "If you don't mind," he said, "I'd like to push right to the important things. We have a lot on file...we need more. We know Agent Mulder has a rather unusual reputation. Can you tell us any reasons why he'd be considered...odd, for lack of a better term?"

"Spooky" Mulder. Scully had always hated that nickname. It came floating into her mind unbidden, but she chose not to mention in it. "He maintains some unusual beliefs. Some people call them odd." Before the head could ask she clarified. "He believes in extra-terrestrials and any related conspiracies. In particular, he believes that his younger sister was abducted when she was young. Much of his work in the FBI was driven by a need to find the truth, about his sister's loss and about anything else which might cover the truth."

"His FBI work is related to such things, correct? You two study the X-files, do you not? Paranormal phenomenon?"

"Yes." Scully wondered how that sounded precisely to the head. She remembered her own reaction when first assigned to the X-files. Craziness. Lunacy. The government spends tax dollars to find out if little green men really live in flying saucers? And anyone who believed in such things must be... "Doctor, Mulder...Agent Mulder has many times shown a certain obsession for such phenomenon. But he is also highly intelligent; his beliefs are not simply fantasies. There are truths to be found. And he did lose his sister Samantha to something."

"A sister," murmured one of the others.

"Yes," said the head. "Can you tell us more about that, his search for his sister? We haven't heard of her before—but maybe..."

Scully was surprised. Mulder did not usually speak openly of Samantha's loss, of course. And yet...Scully knew he had nightmares about her. That they had not heard her name before was a worrisome thing... "I can't tell you everything. I don't have the whole story, and not only do I respect my partner's privacy—" The head opened his mouth to protest, but she continued, "—I understand the circumstances, but many of our cases have been classified." She had the small satisfaction of seeing his mouth close, words unsaid. "I'm sorry, but I fear that may be a problem I can't rectify. Believe me, I would, but I am an agent of the government." Not that that would stop her, except she had doubts that it would do any good. Every secret she knew probably couldn't help these doctors. It wasn't that she had such a low opinion of their abilities...but there were things that she doubted she could make them understand no matter what she said. Like how to tell them what Mulder was like normally...that no matter what previous records might show, no matter what recent events might have occurred, Fox Mulder was not insane.

The head sighed. "I understand," he said in a subdued tone. "Can you give us other information, then?" Scully acquiesced, and the head continued, "When did you first start to notice...aberrant behavior?"

Settling imperceptibly in her chair, Scully pursed her lips and thought. In a moment she said, "I would have to say the first signs were about a week and a half ago..."

 

* * *

Scully surreptiously watched as her partner massaged his temples. By her count it was the third time in the last hour. "Mulder? Is something wrong?" she asked with professional medical concern.

"No," Mulder told her. "I'm fine. Just a headache."

"How have you been sleeping lately?" she pressed. Lately, the last few days, he had been showing signs of sleep deprivation—headaches, an air of distraction, slight darkness under the eyes. While on a case, this was completely normal for him. She doubted sometimes if he slept at all when seriously at work. But there hadn't been any major paranormal activity lately, or at least none had been reported to the FBI yet. To put it bluntly, they were experiencing mild boredom. Scully found it relaxing. Mulder of course hated it, but was he actually not sleeping because of it? Knowing Mulder, quite possibly...

"I've been sleeping," Mulder snapped.

Scully frowned at him. Mulder snapping? His patience tended to be indomitable over such things.

She didn't need to verbalize her question; he saw it on her face. "Not well," he admitted. Her querying look deepened, so he elaborated, "I've had nightmares lately, bad ones."

_So what else is new_, crossed Scully's mind. She said nothing, though. Mulder's dreams were not a laughing matter. She had seen him in the grip of a few of them, and it was a harrowing experience to simply be the observer. "About Samantha?" she asked quietly.

Mulder shook his head. "No. Oddly enough, they've been more like ordinary nightmares...being chased by things through dark tunnels and the like."

"What kind of things?"

"Demons. Aliens even," with a patented self-deprecating smile. "Not anything or anyone I've ever encountered. Just...things." He looked down at his hands, resting on the desk, one finger idly tapping the back of the other hand. "I wish I could say they had some sort of meaning, but they just feel like regular dreams."

Scully had the impression that Mulder wouldn't have minded all that much if he actually thought his nightmares could have some relevance to an X-file. Aloud, she said, "I could prescribe a sleep aid."

"No," Mulder refused, and that was the end of it, for the next few days at least.

It was morning three days later when she came into the office to find Mulder pacing the room. No, not pacing exactly. Searching, peering into corners, literally climbing the walls or trying to. "What's going on?" she asked, guessing a new case.

"Can't you hear it?" he demanded in return, whirling on her. "There's a bug in here, I can feel it, I can hear it whirring, they're listening to us, watching, recording—"

"Who?" Scully asked with concerned doubt. Actually it was quite probable that someone might be. But he sounded so agitated...

Mulder might not have heard her. He was staring up at the ceiling, the corners, eyes darting around like a caged creature's.

"Mulder?" she said, and when that got no response, repeated it louder, "Mulder?"

He jerked, straightened up. For an instant his face went completely blank, then settled into a more normal expression, serious and intense, but usual for him. "Yes?"

"What were you looking for, Mulder? Who's watching us?"

Mulder frowned. "Nothing. Nothing, Scully, honestly."

She accepted it for the moment. But as they went over recent case files, comparing cases, preparing a full report they had been working on for a while now, she saw him once drop the file. His shoulders hunched and his eyes wide, examining the room. "Mulder, who's watching us?" she asked quietly.

"Not us," Mulder hissed. His eyes leapt around the office, hands making fists and then relaxing spasmodically. "Me. Not you. Me. They're after me, not you, it's me..." His voice dropped into an unintelligible whisper.

Scully put down her file, tried to catch his eye. She couldn't; his attention shifted constantly around the office, never on her. "Mulder, who? What are they doing? Why are they after you?"

He made no reply. Under his breath, too low for her to understand, he muttered meaningless syllables. Threat reaction.

Concerned, fighting back a growing fear, she tried again. "Mulder? Can you hear me?" Getting no discernible response, she reached out, shook him by the shoulder.

At her touch he flinched, nearly jumped from his seat. His hands stopped their clenching and his restless eyes found hers, anchored onto them.

"Mulder." she said to him.

"Yes, Scully?" Very calmly. "What is going on?" She took a deep breath. "What's wrong, Mulder?"

"I...I don't know." His eyes slid from hers, dropped to the desk. "Just lately I've been having experiences. Blanking out. Things get hazy, and it...makes me nervous."

"It makes _me_ nervous," Scully affirmed. "You didn't even hear me, you were talking about someone being after you. Do you know who?"

Mulder's shoulders jerked, as if he was blocking a shudder. He straightened up, looked her in the eye. "No. Something from my nightmares I guess. It's like I've been in a dream lately, one of my bad ones, even when I'm awake..."

He showed signs of drifting; Scully spoke fast to keep him present. "And this has happened how many times recently? A lot? Mulder, why didn't you mention this?"

"It's not that big," he told her, looking her in the eyes. "I've had it under control. And I didn't tell you because...because I don't want people to think I'm going nuts, they think me crazy enough as it is." There was a plea in his eyes, a plea for privacy from someone who couldn't bear to reveal most of his secrets or his desires to anyone.

Except to her. Sometimes. "Mulder," she said quietly. "I think you might need help. But if you don't want this out, then I won't tell on you. It's your responsibility." And mine as your partner, she added silently, to see that it gets taken care of somehow. If it gets any worse... "I'm your partner, Mulder. I try to help you.

He looked away, maybe a little guilty for what he asked, maybe guilty for asking for something that he knew he would get unasked. "Thanks. And...could you do something else?"

"Yes?"

"If you...if you see me zoning out again, bring me back?"

Her nod was the only reply, but it was more reassuring to him than a sworn oath.

Scully, however, was in no way reassured. The rest of the day he acted relatively normally, and the one after that too. But by the third day he was showing signs of stress, severe strain. Several times she caught him moving oddly, quick jerky motions, as if he could barely control his limbs. Then she could almost see him shake his head and gather himself together. But he didn't make any wisecracks or indeed speak much at all, and twice she had to physically grab him to get his attention. Even when speaking directly to her, his eyes darted around the room, refusing to focus on her.

By noon she was worried enough to confront him directly. "Mulder," she said, touching his shoulder. He twisted around in his chair to look up at her. His widened eyes and clenched jaw were far from comforting. "Mulder," she pressed regardless, "You have to tell me what's wrong."

"What's wrong?" His voice was pitched too high, not too much, but sounding frightened. "They—can't you—everywhere, they're coming, can't see them yet, can't you feel—" The words poured from his mouth so fast they were hard to understand, overlapping one another. Scully kept her hand on his shoulder, tightening her grip. "Mulder, calm down, who is it—"

With one swift move he shoved her away hard and stood up, so that he stared down at her instead of the reverse. "You know, you can feel, you—you—" He faltered, then tremoured, staring at her. "You're with them! You're one, you're going to, after me, it's your idea, it's your plan they're after me you're after me you all are going to—"

"Mulder!" she shouted. Her heartrate doubled. He accused her of being against him? He thought she was the enemy? Oh, god, what was wrong with him? "Mulder, I'm your partner!" He trusted her, she was the only one he trusted, his partner, his best friend, what was happening?

He was raving at her, crying out accusations, not listening to her. Scully, at a loss for what else to do, shouted his name again, and when that got no response, she slapped him. Hard.

She was about to do so again when he reached out to grab her arm. Half-instinctively she wrenched his own around in return, forcing him to his knees, staring up at her now. Before she applied any more pressure, he went limp.

Scully released him, gasping. What was going on? her mind demanded. Had he finally lost it? Couldn't have, another thought replied. He was sane, no matter what they say, he's _not_ crazy. And yet he had almost appeared as if he would attack her.

Now he didn't though, now he was Fox Mulder her partner again, the one who trusted her. He looked up at her, and in a small voice asked, "Scully? What happened? I don't think I understood all of it..."

Neither did I, thought Scully. "Mulder, you—you went crazy, to put it in simple terms. You said 'they' were after you, and then you accused me of conspiring against you—"

"I—I didn't..." Mulder froze in position, kneeling, looking away from her. "I don't know what I thought...something is wrong, Scully."

Very softly she said, "Something is wrong with you."

"Yes." His instant agreement surprised her. He glanced back into her eyes, spoke in a voice so hoarse it might have been a whisper, "Something's wrong if I accused you..."

Now Scully looked away for a moment, then back, staring into his hazel eyes. "You have to get help," she said. "Leave today, now. Go home and rest. I'll speak to Skinner. Whatever it is, we'll find it out, Mulder. You'll be all right. I promise."

He stood slowly, walked out of the room at a carefully steady pace. When he was gone she breathed deeply several times, covered her eyes as if to block out all light. What was wrong with him? she wondered. They had to find out. They had to fix it, whatever it was.

She explained most of the story to Skinner, who listened with intently. When she was done he asked, "What is wrong?"

"I don't know, sir," Scully answered.

"Has Agent Mulder finally gone completely nuts, do you think?"

"Mulder's not insane. Sir." At least she hoped he wasn't. At least she prayed he wasn't... "Maybe he's under stress from something he's not mentioned. I'm going to find someone to help. A psychiatrist. He'll need some time off—"

"Yes, I guess so," Skinner said. "Alright. He can take what he needs. But I want you to tell me the story, when you find it, Agent Scully. And..." He paused as if ordering his next words. "Just...consider the possibility that there is something very wrong, something that can't take just a quick fix. By now you should know as well as anyone...Fox Mulder's intelligent, an excellent agent...but he's not normal, and he has his own problems bigger than most of the ones you're assigned to."

Scully bowed her head. "I know," she murmured. "I'm hoping that this isn't one of them."

* * *

 

She stopped by Mulder's house when she returned home, and ended up waking him. He was not pleased to learn that he had been relieved temporarily of duty but he didn't protest, and she was glad to see he was getting rest.

Scully stopped herself from calling him several times throughout the night; if he was sleeping she didn't want to wake him up. In the morning she did dial his number, only to get the answering machine. He didn't pick up when she left a message; maybe he was still asleep. Or maybe he was just ignoring the phone. Hopefully he hadn't gone out. He better not have.

Her fears came into focus before she even reached her office. Skinner was waiting outside the door with a grim expression. "Bad news," he said unnecessarily.

"What happened?" she asked. Very bad, her mind replied before he even could. She noticed a bandage on his upper arm, a dark brown stain on the shirt sleeve.

"Agent Mulder has been taken to Briden Institution," Skinner said in a toneless voice.

Scully closed her eyes and summoned strength. Without it she would have had to lean against the wall to remain standing. Briden was a hospital, but not for those sick or injured. At least not for those hurt bodily... "What happened?" she asked again.

Skinner explained in the same toneless voice, a quick unemotional retelling. Mulder had come into work as he normally did, even though he had been relieved. Skinner had summoned him to find out why, but when he asked Mulder the agent went wild.

Mulder shouted accusations at him and Skinner tried to calm him, but couldn't make himself understood. When he reached out to shake some sanity back into his agent, Mulder had pulled his gun.

Scully by this time was leaning against the wall. She listened closely to Skinner, but her eyes were on the opposite wall as she visualized the scene.

"He got off two shots," Skinner said grimly. "The first one got my arm, by the second I had knocked him down and it went into the ceiling. I couldn't even hold him down, but I got the gun away at least. He somehow shoved me off and tried to run for it, but fortunately the alert was out and he was caught at the door. They took him to Briden at my orders," he concluded. "Agent Scully, I don't want to have to tell you this. But I think your partner has gone insane."

* * *

 

Scully finished her own tale with the assistant director's words. "That's all I know of this," she said quietly. "I don't know if Skinner was right. I had hoped you could tell me otherwise..."

The grim looks of the head and the accompanying doctors were not inspiring. Scully swallowed silently. "If I can't give you any help, could I see him?"

Of course they had to; she could pull both medical and FBI rank on them. But they agreed without her having to. The two other doctors left to bring him. The head stayed to talk to her for a few moments.

"You understand," he said, "I'm trying to help him. But I'm at a loss. I don't understand his case precisely; I have a feeling that might be because of all those skeletons in his closet that you so obliquely referred to. No," and he held up his hand, "I'm not accusing you of hiding things. I don't think I _can_ help him. Maybe you will be able to."

Having said this and seeing her understand, he relaxed for the first time since she had entered. Not much, but he was visibly less tense. "His case is odd all right. I've seen things like it with advanced drug addicts, but obviously this isn't the case with him—no withdrawal symptoms."

"What symptoms have you observed?"

The head psychiatrist sighed. "Odd ones. He's been cycling, that's how I've referred to it. He'll be shouting, threatening, physically violent. Then he'll grow calm, and after a while he'll be lucid. Sane, really. Speaking quietly and rationally, except it's usually to himself." Scully didn't mention that this was a habit of Mulder's sometimes; it wouldn't help to do so. "Then, abruptly, he'll be violent again. I've timed the cycle to be about four hours long, and it's kept that way, except the ratios have been changing."

"What's changed?" Scully rapped out.

Any hopes she might have privately held were dispelled with a shake of the doctor's head. "I'm afraid the 'sane' moments are decreasing. Being replaced by the more excitable times. The calm times have been getting steadily shorter..." He didn't have to tell her that he feared they might vanish altogether; she figured that out by his dark look. It lightened only slightly with his next words. "You're in luck, though. He's in his calm phase—you should be able to speak to him normally." He didn't warn her that the sanity exhibited was fleeting. Perhaps he trusted in her medical knowledge. Or perhaps he simply didn't want to add to her depression... "Here they are now."

The office door opened, and he walked in, flanked by an orderly twice his weight. He was speaking as they entered, "—I would like to speak to my partner, Agent Dana Scully—"

"She's right here," the head answered, gesturing to her.

He turned, saw her. Scully smiled at him, a reassuring, professional smile. The kind that covered up any other feelings. "Hello, Mulder."

"Hello, Scully," he replied in kind. His own expression was equally unreadable, but his appearance disturbed her. While Mulder's eyes were almost always filled with a bright intensity, the fervor that he stared at her with now was unnerving. It also lent little credence to the positive state of his mind.

Scully, to break the silence threatening to stretch out over them, said, "Doctor, I think we can speak alone." She was rewarded by Mulder's quick nod of agreement and by the doctor and orderly ducking out of the room.

The door closed behind them with a click. Scully watched Mulder and he looked right back at her. When he spoke, it was sudden, swift. "How did you find me? Where am I?"

One does not tell patients that they are in an insane asylum, particularly not paranoid ones. But this was Mulder. This was her partner and friend. And they were honest to one another. It hurt too much otherwise. "You're in Briden Institution."

Mulder took a deep breath and released it rattling. "Yes." He looked down at the doctor's chair, put his hands on the back but made no move to sit. "I thought that might be the case. Why am I here?"

Truth again. "You've shown symptoms of psychosis. Violent paranoid schizophrenia." She hesitated, then forged ahead. "Do you remember?"

Mulder closed his eyes and opened them slowly. "Somewhat. Not totally. Flashes here and there. I'm still having nightmares, Scully."

"The same ones? Being chased?"

He nodded.

"Mulder," Scully began, "has anything happened recently? Have you seen anything, done anything, that pressured you in some way?"

"Other doctors have asked me this before, Scully," he reminded her. "But no. Nothing. I could recite the last month for you, every conversation I've had, everything I've seen, and you wouldn't hear anything amiss."

Scully, knowing her partner's memory, doubted not a word of this. Still she asked, "Have you taken any drugs? Or had another hypno-regression session? Any blank times, times you can't account for every minute—"

Mulder was shaking his head slowly. "I told you, I've gone over this with the psychiatrists. I've been here for two days. They can't find anything, and believe me, they've gone through my recent life with a fine-tooth comb. They don't know my full history of course, but there hasn't been _anything_ recently that would have set this off."

"Something must have," she insisted. "You wouldn't just go schizophrenic for absolutely no reason. It doesn't happen—"

"Scully," said Mulder patiently. Reasonably. Scully looked away from the intensity in his eyes, unable to face what she might see there. But she listened as he said, gently, "Scully, you know me well, by now. Can you look at me in the eyes and tell me that _I_ couldn't go nuts? Hell, Scully, I've always been paranoid, you know that. Maybe it just got to be too much. Maybe some defense mechanism in my brain decided it was tired and quit. I don't know. Maybe it'll flip on again and I'll be fine. Maybe not. I don't know, Scully."

"You must know," she whispered. "You have to. It's your mind, Mulder. You know what's in there—"

His laugh was sarcastic and harsh and jarring. "I know some of what's in there, but not all, not by a long shot. I can understand conspiracies and murderers fine. But my own mind? That's trickier."

"You have to look harder," she ordered. "Fight this. Find the switch yourself, and flip it on, as you put it."

"I can't," Mulder said flatly. "Scully, I've tried. But I can't. I'm fine now, but in an hour I'll be raving. Don't protest; I know it's true, I've felt it myself. I can feel it now. Prickles up and down my spine. Just standing here still is an effort, and there's a little whisper in the back of my skull telling me to get out and get away and not listen to you because you're only trying to hurt me—"

Wordless, Scully shook her head.

Mulder ran both hands through his hair. "Hell, listen to me. Tell me I'm not nuts. You can't. Spooky Mulder's finally gone completely over the top—" He broke off, took a deep breath. "Call in the doctors," he told her tonelessly. "I think I should be getting back to my room about now."

She did. But as they entered, she took his hands in hers, stared up into his eyes. "Mulder," she said, "Just try. Fight it as well as you can. I'm going to find some way to make this better."

But Mulder wouldn't look back at her. His eyes were streaking around the room. "I can't," he whispered. "You can't. Good-bye, Scully." And then they took him back and she was left alone in the room, staring at the door.

She returned to the office and immediately hunted out Skinner. "Sir, I need to make an investigation."

"About your partner, I imagine."

"Yes."

Skinner sighed, pensive. "Agent Scully, I know he's your partner. I know you believe he couldn't just go insane. But you yourself have to admit Mulder's always been unstable. You might just have to accept the fact that he's gone, and that there might not be a simple key to bring him back. I'm not saying this will be permanent; I have confidence in psychiatrists, but still—"

"That's what Mulder said," Scully said. "But I'm not buying it. Something happened to him. I'm willing to bet my career on that. Give me time to find out what."

"A week," said Skinner. "One week. If by the end you've turned up something, then you can have longer. But if you don't have any evidence to support this theory, then you'll drop it."

"Yes, sir," Scully agreed.

* * *

 

She started right away; with this little time, it was going to be a twenty-four hour a day effort. This didn't phase her. It was Mulder who was on the line; if it had been her sanity, her life, then he would do no less.

The first thing she did was check his recent reports. She went over their last few cases, but since she had been with him on those she was unsurprised to find nothing of use. Then she checked the daily bulletins he haphazardly posted. She even braved the mess on his desk to try to find any recent mail. Nothing she found was anything special, though of course there could be something hidden under the three foot piles of paper stacked up on top. Or in the jumble in the drawers (those she could open).

After an hour Scully sat down in her chair and thought hard. What was she looking for exactly? The answer of course was that she didn't know. Hopefully she would when she found it. A clue, some hint of what had disrupted Mulder's life.

_Be logical, Scully_, she thought. _You have the time._ Okay. She didn't know what it was. But when. That she had a good guess. Sometime in the last couple of weeks. He had started behaving oddly...she checked her calendar. Wednesday last week, a week and two days ago. But now that she thought it over, she could remember him having a headache Monday and Tuesday. Was he not sleeping then? Very likely. That would mean that whatever it was happened over the weekend...

There was another factor to consider. His memory. Mulder's fantastic eidetic memory, the one that could be so useful and irritating at the same time. Read a case file once and he'd be able to recite it at a moment's notice. So what could have happened that _he_ didn't remember? He'd certainly realize a gap in his past if it had been blocked somehow.

It occurred to her that he might indeed remember, that maybe he did know the exact root of his troubles. But why wouldn't he tell anyone? Even with his privacy, he surely knew that he had to tell someone. He would have told her...

Or maybe it was paranoia; maybe he did know but didn't _trust_ her enough. That would hurt. Even if it was because right now he was injured mentally and his perceptions were way out of whack it would still hurt.

Such thoughts wouldn't help either him or her now. She pushed them out of her mind and continued searching through the disastrous desk. Damn the man and his memory; couldn't he at least keep a calendar?

Apparently not. Nor a schedule or atoner or anything. Scully was ready to give up the search when she found the card. A little business card, wedged underneath several papers and a pencil holder. On it she read, "Albert Freyr, Gettering Pharmeceuticals, Tomorrow's Drugs for Today's Hospitals". Beneath this was a number and address.

The city where the company's offices were located was not too far away; maybe a two hour drive. Scully considered this. She had never heard of Gettering Pharmeceuticals, but apparently Mulder had. The question was, where had he gotten this card, and why? And for that matter, when? Two weeks ago, perhaps?

Scully dialed the number on the card. A bored female voice on the other end answered after two rings, "Gettering Offices, how may I help you?"

"I'd like to speak with Mr. Albert Freyr. This is—" wouldn't do to make them suspicious if they indeed were involved, "—Dr. Dana Scully."

"I'm sorry," said the secretary, "Mr. Freyr's in a meeting right now. Would you like an appointment?"

"This is important—"

"He's in a meeting and cannot be disturbed. If it's that important, he has a small opening at four thirty today—would you like an appointment?"

Scully sighed to herself. Experience had taught her that arguments with such repetitive, one-track-minded secretaries tended to go nowhere; it was akin to trying to convince Mulder that flashing lights at midnight were probably car headlights. "Four-thirty, then."

"I'll record you," said the secretary and hung up.

* * *

 

Scully arrived a good half an hour early; traffic was light. She disliked having to drive all the way for what might turn out to be a red herring—but with Mulder at stake she wasn't complaining, not even to herself. She was just hoping that it wouldn't be a dead end.

The secretary announced her, and at four thirty precisely Mr. Albert Freyr came out. He was a heavyset man with a balding head and light blue eyes that flicked over her quickly before he extended his hand and shook hers. "Dr. Scully, I'm Albert Freyr."

Scully nodded, and they went into his office. "Now, doctor," he said, seating himself behind his desk, "What did you want to speak with me about? We haven't met, have we?"

Scully shook her head. "No. I came because I have a question for you, Mr. Freyr. Have you ever met with a man named Fox Mulder?"

"Fox Mulder?" Freyr tapped his fingers together. "The name sounds familiar, but—if you'll excuse my asking, why do you want to know? There is such a thing as private business."

"Not in this case, Mr. Freyr," Scully answered grimly. She took out her badge. "I'm FBI—this is my business."

Freyr blinked at the identification under his nose. "Ah. I see. In that case—" He pushed a button on his desk. "Anne, can you please come in?"

The secretary entered, stood right in front of the door. "Yes, Mr. Freyr?"

"Anne, have I ever met with someone named Fox Mulder?" He smiled apologetically at Scully. "I've a lousy memory; it's why I have a secretary with a good one."

"Fox Mulder?" Anne was saying. "Tall man, brown hair, dark eyes—" she smiled slightly, "rather attractive?"

"That's him," agreed Scully.

"You met him two Fridays ago. Remember, sir? A short meeting—only half an hour. He had a few questions to ask you about the company."

"Oh. Yes, I think I do remember—Mr. Mulder. It was the 'Fox' that threw me, I think. He never gave his first name."

Scully nodded. Definitely Mulder. "Two weeks ago, then?"

"Yes, I remember now." He dismissed Anne, continued. "I suppose you'll want to know what we talked about. Well, I remember some of it, but not all.

"Your...friend?" He looked at Scully inquiringly.

"Partner," she told him.

"Your partner Mr. Mulder didn't mention that he was a federal agent. He just asked questions. Some I didn't answer because I didn't know the answers; others were business matters I wouldn't discuss...and he didn't flash his badge. Curious, that." He eyed Scully broodingly. She had the impression that he was judging her, but apparently found little wrong with her approach and continued willingly, "Anyhow, he was disappointed with the interview—I don't think he heard anything that he wanted."

"What were his questions?"

"Odd ones. Mostly about my company, Gettering Pharmeceuticals. He wanted to know the names of certain of my researchers, and what they were researching. He was particularly interested in particular drugs. I remember wondering if he was trying to sniff out a drug ring—some of his questions pertained to anti-depressants, uppers, and hallucinogens.

"I told him that we deal in nothing illegal, but we do produce two anti-depressants that have gotten much praise from various psychological institutions. Actually our specialty is in psychoactive drugs—"mind-benders" I've heard them called. But they aren't for dealers—they're for hospitals for the mentally ill. If they bend minds, it's to bend them back into their proper shape. We've never been involved in anything illegal, I guarantee it. If I found that so much as one dose of anything my company's made has been sold as some sort of street drug, I'd close down Gettering Pharmeceuticals instantly and it would stay closed until I found the leak." He said the last vehemently, adding in a low voice, "No kid is going to get addicted and kill or die for something I'm responsible for."

The emotion in his voice made Scully wonder if he had had personal experience with such a situation. His own kid, or someone else close? She didn't ask, instead said, "Mr. Freyr, as far as I know your company isn't under any sort of suspicion. Agent Mulder came here on his own time, not as part of his job."

Freyr settled some after hearing that. "Alright then. Can you tell me why he did come? He never mentioned his reasons."

Scully couldn't tell him. Scully didn't know. "I'm afraid I'm in the dark too." But Mulder must have had a reason. Why did he come? She wondered if he had felt he was slipping, and was trying to find help. Or was it the reverse...had his madness been caused by something here? By one of the drugs Freyr had mentioned?

She decided she had little choice but to explain. "Mr. Freyr, the reason I've come is because currently Agent Mulder is at Briden Institution. He's been diagnosed with extreme paranoid schizophrenia—" God, said like that it sounded the flu or something. Take two Thorazines and call me in the morning... "The thing is, it appears as if this _illness_ developed about two weeks ago, a little after he visited you."

"No," said Freyr. "I understand what you mean, but we don't make anything that would induce such symptoms over the course of a couple weeks." Nervously he added, "How long has he been at Briden?"

"Almost three days now."

Freyr relaxed. "Unless they're giving him something there, and I doubt they would after only three days, it can't be a drug causing it. It would be out of his system by now. And besides, it would have shown up in bloodtests. I'm not sad to say that we aren't responsible and can't be. Though..." He trailed off.

"Yes?" Scully leaned forward.

"Actually, we're working on a new schizophrenia treatment right now. It's still being tested. But if other methods don't work, it should be ready for human trials soon now. If the doctors at Briden approve..."

"I'll tell them," said Scully shortly, then acquiesced. She usually didn't care for the chemical solution to psychological problems, but Freyr was only trying to be helpful. And if there was no other way... "Thank you for letting me know. I have one other question—where's your main lab?"

"Our only lab and factory, all in one. It's only a mile from here—actually the offices will be moving there shortly; the building's being renovated. Follow the main street until the end and take the left fork; it's hard to miss. But I wouldn't go today; it closes at five. Everyone would have left by now."

Scully nodded, thanked Freyr again, and left the office. She drove by the laboratory; it was indeed hard to miss, a square white building surrounded by green bushes. Despite that it was fifteen past five, she drove in.

A guard came out of the little booth at the entrance to the parking lot. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said. "Building is closing up. You can come back tomorrow if you get a pass."

Scully flashed her ID. The guard blinked. "Oh. Well, I'm sorry, agent, but the lab's still closed. Opens tomorrow at eight. Can I help you with anything now though?"

"Do you have records of anyone coming here in the last month?"

"Sure do. Looking for anyone in particular?"

Scully told him the name, spelled it out. The guard went to the computer in the booth and came back shaking his head. "Nope, sorry. No one by the name of Mulder (or Fox) has been here in the last year. Not if they went by that name at least."

Scully thanked him. Then, sighing, she drove the two hours back home. This time it was rush hour, and the drive took more like two and a half hours. She was in a pretty lousy mood when she reached Briden. Being told that visiting hours were over put her in an even lousier one.

"Listen, I'm _Agent_ Dana Scully, and it's vital that I speak with my _partner_ Fox Mulder immediately."

"I'm sorry," said the nurse on duty. "I can't let you see him. The patients are supposed to be settling down now for bedtime."

Scully breathed deeply. "But they are still awake. And Mulder is not known for sleeping, period. Can I speak with him for five minutes? Just five minutes?"

The nurse was obstinate. FBI rank and IRS threats had no impact on her. Scully considered pulling her gun but doubted that getting herself thrown in Briden as well would help Mulder any. At last, fuming, she was forced to leave.

As she lay in bed that night she mulled over what she had learned. Mulder had visited with a head of a pharmaceutical company right before he lost it. But he had not gone to the laboratory. Or maybe he had, but if so someone had covered up this fact. Now why would they do that, when Freyr openly admitted to having seen him?

Scully thought about Freyr, too. He had seemed to be telling the truth; she read his uneasiness more as fear of having unknowingly done something wrong rather than actual guilt. Mulder would have been helpful when interviewing him; Mulder was good at seeing when people were lying. Scully lacked his instincts. She relied on his usually. It was damn annoying that she didn't have them now.

If Freyr was lying, she couldn't imagine what about, because he had been honest at least once—there _were_ no drugs that she had ever heard of that caused long term schizophrenia. But if he had told the whole truth, and he and Gettering Pharmaceuticals had nothing to do with what had happened to Mulder...

Scully bit her lip, hard enough that it bled a little. No. Mulder couldn't just go nuts. He wouldn't. There was something wrong with him, and it _couldn't_ be something permanent, unsolvable. It couldn't be that he had just had enough, that his life had grown too hard for him to handle. Other people cracked under strain. Mulder didn't. He bent so far back that people thought he had broken, but he never actually snapped. He hadn't now. Scully believed this. Scully _knew_ this to be true.

He wouldn't just leave the world, leave the X-files, leave his search for Samantha and for the truth, _leave her,_ her mind added in before she could stop it. That wasn't Mulder. Mulder would do anything, he had done most things already, in his work, his quest. He wouldn't just quit. Nothing could make him do that. There was something very, very, very wrong with him...

With those thoughts, Scully fell into restless sleep.

* * *

 

She was awakened too soon, her clock said only five AM, by the shrill electronic warble of the phone. Groggily she grabbed it and muttered, "Scully here."

"Agent Scully, I have bad news," said Skinner on the other end. Scully sat up straight and was scrambling to dress as he explained, "Briden had a little problem last night...Agent Mulder escaped."

She drove straight to the Institution to get the story first-hand. Unfortunately there wasn't much of one. At ten o'clock last night Mulder was in his room. At four o'clock in the morning he wasn't.

The guards and nurses on duty didn't have anything to report, except for one thing—a car had left sometime during the night. One of the doctors' cars, apparently, because only staff cars were allowed in the lot it came from and the cars of those on duty had been accounted for. It happened approximately at midnight; the guard couldn't identify the car, which had driven off without lights and at high speed. But it wasn't all that uncommon for doctors to remain quite late in their offices. The guard hadn't been too concerned.

But it must have been a doctor at Briden who had helped Mulder escape—or had kidnapped him. They thought escape because no one had heard or seen anything. But Scully, even though she thought he was capable of escaping, was certain that he wouldn't. Almost certain. He knew he needed help. Except he wasn't exactly in his right mind...

Talking with Skinner helped. "I'm perfectly aware that they say escape," he told her over the phone. "But do you agree?"

"No sir. Kidnapping's more like it."

"My thoughts exactly. After all," and the AD sighed, "it's not as if your partner lacks enemies. I doubt that he was abducted by aliens, but I suspect as much as you do that _someone_ took him."

It was with that in mind that Scully asked to see the files of the doctors on duty the day before. If it was someone, a doctor was the best bet. Someone who could stay unnoticed. Someone who had access to Mulder.

She found something interesting in the seventh file. Dr. Marvin Lapier, a psychologist specializing in mental disorders. Nothing unusual in that; it was the same basic profile as all the doctors. The detail was that he wasn't a permanent doctor at Briden.

In fact, he had only been there for two days, as an observer and somewhat as a salesman. And his employer was Gettering Pharmeceuticals.

Dr. Lapier wasn't at the Institute. He had left the day before, sometime in the afternoon. Scully wondered how long he had stayed gone.

She didn't call ahead. She drove straight to Gettering Pharmaceutical's lab/factory, fighting the morning rush hour. She got there at nine thirty, showed her ID to the guard, and was promptly ushered in.

Scully was cautious. She didn't demand to speak with Dr. Lapier; instead she met with the head researcher, a Dr. Dumont. She didn't explain why she had come, but her full title and her identification convinced him to cooperate. "Dr. Dumont," she launched right into the questioning, "what are your principle projects here?"

Dumont was more than eager to explain. He showed her charts, surveys, descriptions, photographs, the actual lab and materials, all accompanied by an endless stream of lecture. Scully let him talk for a while, but he didn't let anything slip that she found useful. Finally she asked straight out, "Dr. Dumont, do you know of any drug, either produced here or elsewhere, that can produce symptoms of schizophrenia?"

Of course he did; he rattled off ten that were made at Gettering and was about to list others from other places when Scully cut him off. "Do any of these have long-term effects? Could any of them produce symptoms after only one dose that last for weeks or longer?"

Dr. Dumont hemmed and hawed. "One dose? I don't really know—there are some, repeated doses can have lasting effects, addictions, withdrawal of course, and then there are flashbacks, like one dose of LSD can produce effects years in the future—"

"But are there any that can work continuously? After only one dose?"

Dumont shook his head. "No, no I really can't say there are."

Scully nodded slowly. "Alright then. I think you've told me enough. I was wondering, could I speak to one of your researchers now? Could you take me to Dr. Lapier?"

Dumont bobbed his head. "Of course, of course," and pointed to a side door of the lab. "He's right in there."

Scully thanked the doctor and headed for the door. Dumont followed behind her as if guiding her. She was about to tell him that she could find her way there herself when she felt something pinch her arm.

Looking back, she saw Dumont standing there with a hypodermic in one hand, watching her intently. "I'm afraid you can't see him right now, actually," he said pleasantly. "You see, he doesn't like federal agents, particularly right after he's illegally abducted someone."

Scully reached for her gun, but her arm wouldn't work that way. She tried to respond to Dumont but though her mouth opened words wouldn't come out and as she stood there with her jaw gaping her vision went fuzzy and whirled and then it went dark and she felt herself spinning down to the floor.

* * *

 

Dark. Darkness all around her. Not total darkness. She could tell when if her eyes were open; she could make out dim grey walls around her.

Her head ached. It hurt like hell, and it buzzed too, made it hard to think. It didn't help that she heard voices, too. Distant voices, muttering sounds. She tried to concentrate on them. They sounded threatening, angry, like they would hurt her, and she reached for her gun, drew it out of its holster—

And froze.

Her gun. She had her gun still. She was in a dark room and she was positive the door was locked and there were enemies outside, and she still had her gun. Enemies left her her gun. They threw her in here and they left her her gun.

She stood shakily, saw the door, headed toward it. It was hard; twenty-five feet away and no hand-holds, just flat floor that tilted and twisted under her. No handle. She banged her fists against the door. It was metal, but it only thudded. No clang.

What were they doing? Playing with her. Left her her gun though, and that would make the game on her side, because if she saw them she'd fire, just aim and pull the trigger and they'd die and she'd be safe only others would come. More and more, they were all outside that door she was backing away from, all ready and waiting to come in, and she only had so many bullets in the gun but she'd get as many as she could—

The gunshot took her by surprise, even though it came from her own gun. The bullet embedded itself deep into the plaster wall right next to the door. The little kick of the Sig Sauer almost knocked her to her knees.

In the still aftermath of the shot she heard the voices on the other side of the door. She heard them partly because her mind was clearer and her ears were buzzing less and partly because the initial response to the gunshot was loud enough that she didn't need to strain to hear, the way she did for the rest of the words.

"WHAT IN HELL WAS THAT?"

"That was your partner."

"MY PARTNER?! What have you done?!"

"Relax, it was her gun," said the first voice. It was calm and cold and it sounded familiar somehow. "She's most likely still fine."

"Where is she? Why is she here?"

"She came here. Looking for you maybe, but she didn't say so. Definitely looking for Dr. Lapier here, and we couldn't have that."

"Let me see her."

"Of course. Right in there."

"What? Okay...what's the trick?"

"Paranoia?" That was a third voice, different from the other two.

"I believe I'm over that now, Dr. Lapier. This is simple intelligence." Now that voice was a cold as the other ones. An enemy voice like the others. It sounded familiar too, she didn't know why, and there was a trembling element to it. Like it was worried. An enemy worried? Probably scared of her. Scared of her and her gun. He should be. "You wouldn't just let me go."

"Very intelligent. We didn't say anything about letting you go. Just that you could see her."

"I'd want to see her, if I were you," commented the third voice. "She is your partner."

"I know."

"The question is does she know that."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember your little...memory loss? And the aftereffects? I'm afraid she's experiencing something similar."

The third voice explained: "We upped the dosage a bit, changed it a little. Sped it up. She's still got the confusion and amnesiac effects right now, but she's also got the paranoia..."

"So," the other voice continued, "although her reflexes are at least as good as usual, and probably better, she might not remember you too clearly. And she also might have a similar memory problem with her Hippocratic Oath..."

"Seems like you've got the same problem," growled the odd voice, the strange shaky enemy who she knew.

"We're scientists, not doctors," growled one voice back. Lapier, she labelled it suddenly. He had been called Lapier.

And the name was familiar, she had been looking for him. Why? Because he was the enemy of course like everyone. But...something else floated in her mind. Helping someone. She had been helping someone. Who would she help? Why, when they were all enemies?

"Now, now," said the other voice. "Let's not fight. Or be ill-mannered. We're being quite polite, allowing you to see your partner."

"Just tell me the catch." Every word was bitten off sharply.

"The catch is that she's got her gun, and there are four bullets in it—three, now. And I assure you that she's fully ready to use them on her enemies, which at this point includes the entire known and the unknown world. She's right through that door. Just enter the room. We'll close the door behind you, and open it after we hear three gunshots."

"What if I don't enter?"

"Well, we had to install some sort of precautions, since we guessed you might say that. She's been given a tranquilizer. It should take effect in maybe half an hour or so. When that happens...I'm afraid we'll have little choice in the matter. You'll be given a healthy dose of what you got before, and then be left somewhere convenient. When they find you you won't remember this much at all. And so they'll put you back in Briden and you can live out your life there."

"And my partner?"

"Ah, well, unfortunate thing. She went looking for you and somehow let you get hold of her gun. Sad thing. You were in your wildest stage and she was cold by the time they found her. No chance to revive her. Of course that will put you on trial for murder, but I think in this case insanity will be an excellent defense."

There was silence on the other side of the door. She breathed very softly, trying to understand what was happening. Drugs. She had been drugged she thought she heard. And they would kill her of course, she already knew that. And one of them was coming in...she heard him say it after the pause. "I'll go in."

"Very good. Right through there. The door'll close behind you, don't worry."

Carefully she aimed the gun, level, aimed it right at the door, right where a person's head would be.

The door creaked, very slowly began to move, so very slowly...

"Please, Mr. Mulder, don't be so hesitant."

Out of nowhere an image flashed through her mind, a face above her, looking down at her smiling, with brown hair and bright eyes that stared directly into hers. It was so strong a vision that she hesitated, lowered her gun. And the door swung open and a man stepped into the room.

She pulled herself together, aimed the gun, was about to pull the trigger when his mouth moved and she heard him say, "Scully?"

The voice was familiar, it was the one that had quivered slightly outside, and it shook a tiny bit now. And the face was familiar, it was the same face that had appeared to her. Not an enemy, even though it had to be. She kept the gun aimed but her finger didn't even touch the trigger.

"Scully?" it said again. "Please, can you lower the gun? I'd rather you didn't shoot me again."

"Who..?" A voice in the air, a voice coming from her own mouth, only it didn't sound like hers, couldn't be hers. Not a vice really, more of a rasp.

He understood. "It's your partner," he said very softly.

She knew what he'd say next and said it for him. "Mulder."

And he smiled, the same smile that had been on his face in her mind. "Good! I was a little worried there."

"Mulder..." Now that she had said his name it seemed to be the only thing she could say. "Mulder." It had the strangest feeling to it, that name. Mulder, as if the world was divided in two, Mulder and enemies. Enemies and Mulder. Mutually exclusive categories. Don't shoot this one... She dropped the gun.

He bent down and retrieved it, then stood before her, looking down into her eyes. "Scully," he said softly. "I'm right here. You're going to be OK."

"What..." Rasp again. She tried a second time, found her vocal cords at last. "What's wrong? How can we escape, how can we escape them when they're everywhere?"

He had her by the shoulders, not tightly but firmly, still staring into her eyes. "Easy, Scully. You're going to be fine. I know you feel...disturbed, but you have to fight it." He was smiling, not the wide smile he had had when she had identified him, but a ghost-smile, barely there. "I fought it, Scully, it's not too hard. Of course I had more experience, but you're stronger than me, I know you can do it. Just stay calm."

"But...but..." The room was too dark, too close. He was close too but she didn't mind that, he was supposed to be close, always there, even when she pushed him away she knew he stayed.

Scully shook her head, concentrated. Breathed deeply. A drug. They had given her something, that was why the world seemed so twisted, it wasn't herself. You're the logical one, Scully. You're sane. You've got to think.

"How do we get out of here?" Amazingly her voice sounded solid, calm, the way it was supposed to.

She was rewarded with Mulder's quick smile. "Not as hard as you might think, actually." And then he reached down into his shirt and took out a little pistol.

Scully stared. Even with her thoughts as murky as they were, this made even less sense then her having her own gun. "They let you keep your gun too?" Easy there. The words wavered.

"They don't know I have it," he explained. "Didn't bother searching me, figured the fun folks at Briden would do it for them. Actually they did, but not after Skinner stopped by..."

"Skinner?" Her memory seemed to be returning slowly. "What did he...he gave you the gun?"

Mulder nodded. "We figured I might be taken, and decided I could use _some_ protection."

Scully didn't understand half of what he was saying. Her mind was only supplying quick flashes here and there; the whole picture was a meaningless blur. To narrow their situation down to something more easily graspable, she asked a simple question: "What do we do now?"

"_You_ just try to stay calm and let me handle things. I know you hate it when I do this, but right now, you're going to have to trust me to make things work out right. Just do what I say, we'll be fine, I promise."

_Promise_. _Trust_. Alien words, the way she felt right now. Danger words, words enemies used to get close so they could stick the knife right into your chest instead of throwing it. _You're the only one I can trust._ She had to rely on the vague memories she had; she couldn't actually bring herself to trust him, but she had before, she always had it seemed, and now he said she had to. Aloud all she said was, "I believe you."

The smile was there and gone so fast she almost missed it. "Good. First things first, then—you have to shoot me." He didn't give her a chance to respond; instead he aimed the gun at the wall and fired.

The shot made her jump; Mulder reached out and took her hand, squeezed it. "You'll be fine," he repeated softly.

He fired again. The bullet burrowed into the wall next to the other two. Then he gave her the gun, put it into her hands. "You fire the last shot. I'm going to play dead. When they come in, do anything that won't get you hurt—try to fire at them again. And I'll take it from there."

Her hands shook; she steadied them, aimed the gun at the wall. Mulder lay down on the floor, curled up around himself as if he'd been shot in the stomach.

She pulled the trigger. Mulder cried out, and she looked at him. He looked right back, flashed his smile at her, and then ducked his head down, breathing so lightly his body didn't move.

The door opened slowly. Two men entered; she recognized one. _Dr. Dumont_, her waking mind murmured. The other she guessed was Dr. Lapier. Aiming the gun, she squeezed the trigger.

Of course nothing happened. As if angry she squeezed it again and again, retreating a step with every one they took toward her, until her back was against the wall. As they kept approaching, she cried out, "Get away! Go away! Stay away!"

They didn't listen. She hurled the gun at them, still screaming. Her fear was less feigned than she would have liked; the sight of them terrified her. Lapier bent to examine Mulder; Dumont continued approaching, arms outspread as if he was about to hug a child.

Overcome with a wave of fear and nausea, not thinking any clearer than she had been, she suddenly threw herself at him, a blind attack, fight response overcoming flight. Undeterred, he grabbed her arms. He was stronger than he looked, and his grip was iron. She struggled, couldn't get free, and that made her even more frantic, and he wouldn't let go even though she kicked him and he was going to kick her in return and bring her down—

"Let her go."

Dumont snapped his head around and stared. "Mr. Mulder—"

Mulder had Lapier by the collar, the little pistol pointed directly at his throat. "Please don't touch my partner."

"How did you—"

"I told you—"

Dumont hastily shoved Scully away. "But, how did you—"

"I'm supposed to tell you?"

Dumont stiffened, then cooled. When he spoke again it was with the same casual, emotionless air he had had before. "Of course not. I, on the other hand, will tell you that whatever you're planning or have already planned is hopeless. There's already more of us on the way. Soon they'll simply flood the room with an anesthetizing gas, and we'll all be out—you and your partner as well as me. And when you awaken, I assure you you won't have your weapons."

"And if I shoot you two before that?"

Dumont's voice got even calmer. "I'm sure that would make an interesting note in your resume. And it would not reduce the effectiveness of the gas."

"Very well, then. We'll leave." And with that, Mulder shoved Lapier toward the door. "Come on, Scully. Dr. Dumont, I'm sure Dr. Lapier here would appreciate you joining us."

In the lab, Dr. Dumont was quick to point out that the same difficulties applied—the gas was still readily available and probably about to be pumped in any moment. In fact, they were only making Dumont and Lapier's allies' job easier, by making them more visible.

"Alright, then," Mulder replied to this. "We now have only a little time left, which you can spend telling me where the antidote to what you gave Scully is."

"Any reason why I would do that?"

"Out of friendship for your associate here, who's life is still in danger."

"He doesn't matter!" Lapier hissed. "I can tell you that—it's in the third compartment on Cabinet H—the drawer labelled-"

"Lapier!" Dumont growled. "Tell him nothing more."

"You're life's not on the line! It's labelled 'Experimental Storage.' And if you look under the same heading in the files you'll find information on the drug and the cure." Lapier twisted under Mulder's grip to try to look him in the face. "Since I told you, will I get an easier sentence?"

"You'll be lucky if you go to prison!" Dumont snapped. "Kill him, agent. It'll be kinder than what we'll do to him afterwards. You don't matter now, Lapier." He turned as if about to walk out.

"Dumont," Mulder warned. Turning, the doctor saw the gun was pointed squarely at his own head now. "Please stay with us."

Lapier, the gun not aimed at him anymore, pushed Mulder away. The FBI agent let him go, approaching Dumont. Lapier frowned. For a moment it looked as if he might try to bolt. Then he caught Dumont's glare. Slowly, stealthily, he began to approach Mulder, taking a hypodermic from one pocket.

Scully moved. Before Lapier even realized she was there she had snatched the needle and plunged it into the doctor's own arm. Lapier gasped, swung his arm to smack her. She jumped back. He raised his hands in fists, and then, before her eyes, he crumpled to the floor. She bent down, checked his pulse. Slow but steady.

"Good job," Mulder remarked, not looking around. "Are you alright?"

Scully took a deep breath, released it. Took another one to speak. "I'm okay."

"Glad I have you for back-up. Now, Dumont, anything you want to add to what Dr. Lapier was saying?"

"Lapier was a fool. Ignore his babble."

"When it probably will be so helpful?" Mulder cocked his head. "Do you hear something?"

Scully did. Voices outside, footsteps, both approaching. Several voices. Several people. A lot of people, it sounded like. Her heart picked up speed. They were coming to get them. He lied; they weren't fine, they weren't going to escape.

Dumont thought the same thing. "I'm afraid our time together is up," he remarked sarcastically. "It's been a pleasure."

"One we'll enjoy again, I assure you," Mulder replied.

The footsteps were right outside. There was a crash; Scully jumped. Another one, and the door of the lab flew open. "Everyone, FREEZE!!"

All she could do was stare as four uniformed police officers and two FBI agents that she might know aimed their guns directly at Dumont. At Mulder, too, but he intelligently stepped to one side. "I don't have my ID, but I assure you I'm on your side."

"We know that, Agent Mulder," said one of the agents. "And that's Agent Scully. You are known around the office, you know."

Mulder frowned a little at that but only said, "Did you get any others?"

"We've collared the nine other scientists in the building," reported the other agent. "Plus put Freyr and his secretary in custody."

Mulder's frown was more pronounced. "I told you that was unnecessary, he's innocent."

"Just a precaution, and your boss approved it. Agent Scully, is something wrong?"

Not really, she wanted to say. The room's spinning, but it never fully settled anyway. And if I had my gun I might be shooting you, but as it is... She didn't speak, it was too tricky. Instead she leaned against the lab table, trying to keep on her feet.

Someone took her by the arms, held her tight. She tried to struggle, than realized she was being supported, not restrained. Looking up she made out Mulder's face, wavering and fuzzy. "Scully? What's the matter?"

He was worried, she thought she heard, and underwent the little mental flip-flop again, how could an enemy be worried about her? But he wasn't an enemy, no one was now, they wouldn't hurt her, and he was worried. "They...they said...tranquilizer," she tried to get out.

"Shit, I forgot about that. But they didn't say it was anything worse, they would have said poison if they meant it, you'll be okay, you're just going to sleep, I'll make sure you're fine—"

Scully tried to nod, tried to show she agreed. Vaguely, a distant part of her mind wondered who he was trying to reassure, her or himself? Before the thought could go any further, even that part had gone dark. Her mind was empty, her eyes saw nothing, and she started to fall to the floor.

Before she hit she felt someone catch her, keep her from hurting herself, and then everything was gone.

 

* * *

When she open her eyes again her first impression was pain. Pain in her head, and the bright whiteness all around her. She closed her eyes.

"I saw that. You're awake."

Tentatively she raised her lids. Her head still ached, but the sharp pain was diminishing. How had she gotten a hangover—

Then it all came back in a rush. Lapier, Dumont, Mulder, tranquilizer, drugs... Thinking back it seemed a little hazy. Not the memory, just the way she had thought during it. Fortunately that darkness had passed, she could think clearly now.

One thought in particular stuck out from the rest. She raised her head (bad move; it hurt more upright) and glared at her partner, who was seated next to her hospital bed. "How'd you get that gun?" Her voice sounded fine to her ears, not even hoarse, just a touch tired.

Mulder, who had been leaning toward her with perhaps a touch of worry, fell back against his chair and smiled slightly. "I did tell you. How much do you remember of last night?"

"Last night? What time is it now?"

"Next night. Evening actually. You got a nice sixteen hour nap—hope you feel rested." She realized he was trying to distract her. "You said—" she did remember, once she thought it through, "you said _Skinner_ gave it to you."

"Yes." She might have imagined his grimace. "He did."

She was not going to take this lying down. Or actually she was, but she was going to take it right here, right now. "Mulder."

"Yes?" Hopeful, as if he thought she might have an unrelated question.

"The story. I want what happened, everything that happened to you, _right now_."

He cringed. He absolutely cringed. "The whole story?"

"NOW, Mulder."

Her partner took a deep breath and began. "It began a while ago. I was reading a few articles on memory techniques, enhancement, and I found a related article on memory suppression and then amnesia, the possibility of an amnesiac drug that could erase memories for a certain time. This was a couple of years ago, and I kept the article around, even though there wasn't much to it. Just theory. But I thought if this theory was real...well, it would explain some things. And be useful for certain unpleasant people we've encountered.

"Recently I saw a second article by the same author, this one on psychoses-inducing drugs. A report on what was already out there, with speculations on what new developments could be made in this unusual area. It was interesting because most scientists aren't trying to make drugs to make people nuts; those that do so are because of side effects.

"On sort of a hunch I checked on the author. He had published eight articles in the last three years; the most recent was the one I just mentioned, and that was dated from a year ago. Still following my instincts, I checked on his background, found that a year ago—only a little bit after the article was published—he was hired by a company, Gettering Pharmaceuticals."

"Lapier," Scully said suddenly, having a sudden hunch of her own.

Mulder looked pleased at her deduction. "Right on the nose. This is when I got suspicious: I checked on the principle scientists at Gettering. _None_ of them had had anything published in their field since they started working there. A couple of articles in other areas of psychology...did I mention that their fields were in—"

"—Psychoactive drugs," Scully completed the sentence.

"Of course," Mulder continued after nodding, "that makes sense, considering Gettering's specialty. And maybe they didn't publish because of company rules, just good business, avoiding competition. So I decided to investigate unofficially...there wasn't anything really suspicious yet, just some vague hunches.

"I talked to the CEO, I believe you met him, Mr. Freyr. He assured me that there wasn't any rules against publication; he also didn't know anything about my suspicions. He's innocent, incidently. He's being released tomorrow. No idea what was going on under his nose in his own company, the idiot. Anyhow, Freyr didn't convince me. I went to the lab that Saturday, after meeting with Freyr Friday.

"The lab at first seemed to be just as innocent, and I was going to give up my case as a lost cause. But first I checked the computer files...unofficially. And found some interesting gaps. A little too interesting, I guess. I went to find some hard copies, scared up a few, and then I happened to bump into Dumont, Lapier, and a few others. They found my badge, and things went downhill from there...

"I ended up waking up inside my apartment. Still had my gun, my badge, and, this is the interesting thing, my memories. I remembered everything I had found, it was enough to convict some of them. I also remembered that there were more involved than those I could convict. And a clear memory was the shot that knocked me out.

"I assumed that they thought they were giving me more than a tranquilizer. I believed that it was supposed to be an amnesiac drug that hadn't been tested well enough. It wasn't until Monday morning, after a whole series of nightmares that kept me from sleeping at all, that I figured out there was more in that needle than I had suspected.

"I decided that I needed a little more data. So instead of spilling the story I kept quiet, as if I really had forgotten. And in the same spirit, I sort of let myself go along with whatever it was in me was telling me to do. I didn't tell anyone. I was almost afraid that it might not have been the drug, that it might actually might be my own self going..." He swallowed, shook his head. "Anyhow, after I...that day that I practically attacked you..."

"I remember."

"I went to Skinner and told him everything that had happened. And he agreed with me. He thought that it was probably the drug. I had some tests done. They didn't find anything, but we were dealing with something new anyway, I knew that. So I...so we, Skinner and I, set up a sort of sting..."

"Without me?" Scully demanded. "Why didn't you tell your partner? I'm understanding this, I think. You pretended to go crazy, so they'd put you away, and then the people from Gettering would take you back for more tests."

"That's it, basically. I didn't actually shoot Skinner; it was a set-up. You were supposed to just tell the doctors—including Lapier—your firm conviction that I had in fact lost it. You _weren't_ supposed to track down Gettering Pharmaceuticals and get yourself caught...I nearly _did_ lose it when they told me you were there. And that was after they had given me the antidote, too."

He paused, and Scully spoke. "I have a question," she said. "When you went in to the room with me, and I had the gun..." She trailed off, uncertain what she wanted to ask.

Mulder shrugged. "If you're wondering, the main thought going through my head was convincing you that it was me before you shot me somewhere vital."

"Did you think I would shoot you? Because, Mulder, I don't really know if being my partner would have been enough. Everything felt so warped...frightening...I felt like killing anything that tried to approach me because—just because..."

Mulder nodded seriously. "I know how you were feeling. Believe me. I lived with it for a week. But I also knew that I had had the ability to suppress those feelings...that was why Skinner gave me the gun. And I knew if I could do it, then you most certainly could." He looked away from her, down at the floor. Silence for a few minutes, and then he spoke to fill it. "Scully...Scully, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. About the subterfuge, about that I did know what was going on. It was just...I didn't know who was watching, but someone was, to see how their first test of the drug was working. And also, I wasn't exactly in a trusting frame of mind, telling Skinner seemed like a huge mistake about thirty seconds after I did it. Confession's supposed to be good for the soul, but I swear it nearly drove me over the edge completely..."

Scully thought over her memories from the day before, the darkness shadowing them. How it had felt when everything seemed to be against her, after her. How difficult it had been to trust Mulder.

Except she had. And he hadn't. When she spoke her voice was calm. "How does the drug work?"

For a split second a pained look flashed across his face. He knew she wasn't accidently avoiding the issue he had raised. He might have a one-track mind about such things like cases, but she usually considered other factors. But his voice was equally calm in response. "We don't know yet. I have to read up on the files tonight."

"I'd like to see them. But I think I need to go home now and go to bed. Artificially induced sleep doesn't cut it."

He nodded and got the nurse. It didn't take long to check her out; after all, she wasn't hurt. The only reason they brought her to the hospital was because they hadn't been sure how effective the antidote would be. But since she seemed to be fine, they didn't have much choice about releasing her.

Scully went back to work the next day. She didn't see any reason not to. Skinner called her to his office before she got down to the basement.

"Agent Scully, I see you've recovered sufficiently from your experience."

"Yes sir."

"I have a few questions for you, though. The first is, why didn't you call for backup? If Agent Mulder hadn't alerted us prior to his kidnapping, you'd have been in trouble."

"I think we had the situation under control when they arrived, sir, to tell the truth. I didn't call ahead because I didn't know I needed back-up when I went to the lab. By the time I found out it was a little late to do so..."

Skinner grunted, but couldn't deny her logic. "My second question is slightly more personal. I understand that you and Agent Mulder are somewhat at odds right now. And that some of your animosity might extend to me."

Scully didn't reply, choosing to focus on a point somewhere to the side of the AD's head.

"Agent Scully," Skinner said patiently, "I assure you that telling me you aren't fond of me right now will not break my heart. But even so...I'd rather you weren't angry with me or with your partner. In my case it's easy. The only reason I didn't tell you is that your partner, who was running the show, gave me express orders not to...along the line of threatening to expose the whole charade if I did so. As for why you should forgive Agent Mulder..."

He paused for so long that Scully was forced to say, "Yes?"

"Did Agent Mulder mention where we got the idea to have him 'shoot' me?" Scully shook her head. "I didn't think so. Agent Scully, Mulder was rather insistive that you didn't find out...and he can be very persuasive, particularly when holding me at gunpoint."

Scully blinked, unraveling this statement. "He pulled his gun on you?"

"He pulled his gun on me," the AD confirmed. "The only reason he hasn't been demoted or expelled or arrested or worse is that I chose not to report the incident. Chemically induced artificial stress is how I'd word it, except I haven't and aren't planning to. And the reason he aimed his gun at me and threatened to pull the trigger was because I was urging him to tell you what was going on and had mentioned that I might do it myself. I didn't agree with keeping you in the dark. And I think I was vindicated with what has happened. I don't think he'll do it again, chemically imbalanced or not."

Scully spent several minutes digesting this while Skinner waited patiently. At last she said in a small voice, "Why did he do it?"

"Insist so strongly on keeping you out of it? Two answers. One he'll give you. That there were people watching him, observing his behavior, and he couldn't let anything slip, or give you the chance to let something slip. That's the reason he told me. It might have been his paranoia talking," and the AD smiled very slightly, "either the drugged one or his own unnatural mind. I think they were watching him, but I don't know how closely."

When Skinner didn't immediately go on Scully said, "And the other reason?"

The AD looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "Agent Scully, I've watched you and Agent Mulder work together as partners. I've seen the way you work. You're some of my top agents, despite all your fallibilities. Quite simply, the reason Mulder wouldn't tell you and wouldn't let you be told is because he didn't want you involved. He knew these people were playing a dangerous game, and if someone was in danger he wanted it to be him, and only him." Skinner looked down and into his agent's sharp blue eyes. "That's the reason he never gave, and that, I'm convinced, was the real reason. I think part of it was the paranoia—he converted it somehow, fear for his own state becoming fear for yours. And part of it was because he's as protective as you as an older brother or a mother hen.

"And that's why I disapproved, because I knew you'd be furious. Because you don't want to be protected. And you don't want to see Mulder in danger any more than he wants to see you in trouble. You two are so protective and self-sacrificial of each other that it makes _my_ job twice as hard—because I know if something happened to one of you, I might as well take it as a given that it will happen to the other. And then I might have two deaths on my conscience." He sighed again, then looked down at his desk and began to shuffle through the papers there. "There's two cases waiting for you down in the office," he said gruffly. "Tell your partner to wrap up this one before even _looking_ at those though, or the report will never be filed."

Of course Skinner's instruction came too late; Mulder was already halfway through the second file when she reached the basement. He glanced up when she entered, saying, "Good morning," in a forcedly neutral tone.

"Good morning," Scully replied, then relayed the AD's last words. Mulder sighed. "But look at the evidence here, burn-marks—"

"First we deal with the last week. Any news on how the drug worked?"

Mulder roused himself from the file he was gazing longfully at and gave her a quick overview. "I've written up the details in the report. It's definitely something new. A 'cascade' chemical is what it's called in the files. Apparently, the original dose induces an imbalance in a minor neurotransmitter—a very minor imbalance, but this causes a greater shift elsewhere, and a still greater one sometime later in other chemicals...the original drug leaves your system, but the imbalances keep building. They slow down, but they keep shifting, trying to adjust. The effects would take literally years to wear off completely in the case of what they gave me. Fortunately they worked out a chemical that works in reverse, and faster, going through only three cascades before it stabilizes the system in its original state."

Scully's eyes had glazed over, not with confusion, because she understood everything he said, but with amazement. "That's incredible! The possibilities—a cure for addictions, for any disease involving chemical imbalance anywhere in the body—"

Mulder nodded slowly. "Sound great, I know. Unhappily, according to what I got out of the scientific reports, it seems to be a fluke that they found this drug. And it doesn't even work as well as they predicted. We're years away from developing this...but it's a good theory to start from."

"The other problem," Scully remarked, "is that all the scientists involved are going to be in jail. Why did they make it to begin with? Why did they give it to you? And why were they keeping it so secret?"

"No easy answers," Mulder answered her questions grimly. "But I have a good theory. We've met with some unpleasant people before. People who would have good reasons to want others to forget things. People who would be overjoyed if their enemies happened to just go crazy. And from what we know, they have the money to fund scientific projects..."

"Working for a conspiracy?"

"I think, from what I've heard from Lapier and Dumont and the rest, that they were paid to do it. Or were going to be paid. A large reward was offered to the makers of certain drugs."

Scully caught the catch word. "Makers, plural. So there may be more companies?"

"It gets worse," Mulder said. "We've arrested the eleven scientists working for Gettering. But..."

"But?"

"But I've talked to Lapier, he's still willing to talk, and he says that there were twelve involved. No one will identify the twelfth. But all the scientists in the 'project' had access to the data. Someone got away, and we have to assume that he or she has everything. They can reconstruct the research elsewhere. We know they'll be able to get funding. And next time they might be more successful."

The two agents stared across the office at each other. It wasn't the first time by a long shot that they'd been left with a more than slightly troublesome loose end, but it nevertheless made them nervous.

Scully broke the silence at last. "Mulder," she said.

"Hmm?"

"If you encounter these people again, if you encounter any conspiracy again, I want a promise from you. I don't care if you're drugged. I don't care if you're paranoid. I don't care if you've actually really gone nuts for unrelated reasons. You will tell me the entire story when it happens, as it happens, and you will not hide one detail from me."

Mulder looked away. "I promise."

"Look me in the eyes."

He looked her straight in the eyes. "Scully," he said sincerely, "I promise to tell you everything, I will not withhold a single datum from you." He paused, and then added quietly, but loudly enough that she heard, "as long as it doesn't put you in danger."

Scully opened her mouth. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to slap him or kick him or hurt him in some awful way. She wanted to grab him and hold him down (at gunpoint, perhaps, since he had found it so convincing) until he retracted his last phrase but kept the rest of the vow.

Instead she said, "I promise the same."

Mulder smiled at her then, the full rare smile of complete contentment that almost reached fully into his heart, even gave some light to the dark places inside him. Then, without him moving a visible muscle, it shifted into his normal cocky sarcastic grin. "I now pronounce us man and wife," he intoned in a forced bass. In the same voice he went on, "I would command myself to kiss the bride, but most unfortunately we've got a case to work on."

And with that, he tossed his partner the case file he had been examining so intently and began to theorize and detail all the relevant facts as she read their next assignment. Something about burnt circles and burnt people. Not dead yet at least.

At least, Scully was pleased to note, Mulder was back to normal, with a sound mind.

At least, to whatever counted as sound when Mulder was concerned.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't say this before in fear of scaring you off, but now that it's over I'll tell you my dark secret. Not only is this my first X-files fanfic ever, but I'm an extremely new addict to the show—I've at this point seen only two episodes. Most of what I know comes from reading all the great fanfic out there. Because of this, I wouldn't mind if you tell me I have some colossal character mistakes. Just be nice about it. And I'd love you forever if you sent comments about it to me.


End file.
